


Most Inconvenience

by FallacyFallacy



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Catboys & Catgirls, Community: kink_bingo, First Time, Hand Jobs, Hand Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-07
Updated: 2011-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-15 12:05:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallacyFallacy/pseuds/FallacyFallacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk thought he'd apologize to Spock with a cat as a gift. But when the transporter malfunctions, they both realize that a catboy is fine, too... Written for 'Animal Play' for Kink_Bingo</p>
            </blockquote>





	Most Inconvenience

**Author's Note:**

> Named for this quote - 'Cats can work out mathematically the exact place to sit that will cause most inconvenience.' ~Pam Brown. I have no idea who this person is and the sentence itself is grammatically a little weird, but I couldn't have come up with a more fitting quote myself!

In the two years since Nero had been defeated and Kirk had been made captain a lot of things had changed. At first things had felt a little off – different, and unfamiliar in an unexplainable way. There was no earthly reason why certain things changing – for example, Spock and Uhura breaking up and becoming just good friends -should make their interaction more recognisable and normal, but it did.

 

Eventually, they'd settled into a silent mutual agreement of sorts – Sulu and Chekov were together, Scotty had a not-so-small crush on Uhura, and Spock and McCoy argued every spare moment they had together. And, most of all, Kirk and Spock were best friends.

 

It was a little shockingly perfect, if Kirk was honest. After their initial shaky start it became almost instantly clear how well-suited they were, whether for dodging phaser blasts together on a hostile planet or trading snarky comments to each other over breakfasts in the mess. They complemented each other when they exchanged battle tactics as well as when they played their 'friendly' games of chess. (Which, themselves, transformed without either of them noticing from blatant attempts to prove their superiority to genuinely relaxing shared activities.) And the depth of caring they were capable of surprised them both; they hadn't verbally acknowledged this aspect of their relationship yet, and Kirk was beginning to wonder whether they ever would, but he only needed to remember the look in Spock's eyes the last time he was in sickbay to know that the Vulcan felt the same way that he did.

 

But lately, Kirk had been feeling it again. That slight itching, restless feeling in his skin that told him something was wrong. Things between him and Spock were good, but something deep inside him told him they could be _better_.

 

Sometimes he wondered whether this feeling had anything to do with that parallel universe the other Spock had mentioned. Unfortunately, he knew very little about what it was like there – when they had melded during the Narada incident it had only been for Spock to pass him a stream of information, and if Kirk had caught anything unrelated altogether all he could remember was a feeling of profound grief. And try as hard as he might to get the other Spock to tell him about their future he still refused, invoking some crap about 'letting this universe evolve naturally' which Kirk thought was pretty much for someone who'd made him insult his first officer's mother until he tried to strangle him just so they'd end up friends, but every time Kirk tried to point that out the other Spock would just smile enigmatically. He wasn't sure whether he was more looking forward to his Spock becoming as open and expressive as that or dreading the day when he became so devious. Either option was a little terrifying.

 

But Kirk shook his head, refusing to think about it. He was on a beautiful, sunny planet all but free of threats with little more to do than make sure none of the scientists he'd beamed down with fell off a cliff. Which, he considered, perhaps wasn't as unlikely as he'd thought; the planet really was _astoundingly_ Earth-like, the only difference being a lack of any predators larger than a typical dog, and the science team were all very eager to figure out how that could have happened. The idea that a Human science ship had gotten stranded here decades ago and that their seeds and pets had escaped seemed the most common one, though the words 'parallel evolution' were being thrown around more and more now that they were down there.

 

He wondered what Spock thought.

 

Okay, so maybe it was a _little_ pathetic to already be pining after him just hours after their fight. It hadn't even been a big one. It hadn't even been one they hadn't already had hundreds of times before. But this time was just so much worse, so much stupider, that Kirk simply couldn't bring himself to back down. Normally it went like this: Kirk decided he and Spock would beam down together for some sort of exploratory or military mission, Spock expressed concern that the two highest-ranking officers would both be going down, Kirk told him he was going anyway, and Spock followed to make sure he didn't kill himself, complaining (or, as Spock would say, 'reminding him') all the while that his job was to give Kirk advice that he listened to. Which was a ridiculous argument, because Kirk listened to Spock all the time when not on this subject, and they both knew it – in fact, Kirk had come to rely on Spock's opinions to a ridiculous amount when it came to missions. He didn't know how he'd ever function as Captain without him.

 

And that's what made this fight so stupid. Spock had brought it up, just like normal, clearly expecting Kirk to play his typical role, which only made him all the more gobsmacked – every other time he's known where Spock was coming from, knew that they really could both be in danger, but this time?! They were beaming down to a planet without anything carnivorous that was larger than a dog, and which – in case he had forgotten! - almost exactly resembled Earth, meaning that any of those 'oops accidentally turns out this flower is poisonous/drugged/gives off an aphrodisiac' scenarios were pretty impossible. It wasn't that Earth didn't have dangerous plants or smaller animals, but Kirk liked to fancy that over two decades of living on Earth had garnered him enough common sense to know not to try and wipe his ass with poison ivy or whatever. He really couldn't see any way of reacting beyond incredulity.

 

And, sure, in retrospect it was obvious that Spock had just been trying to show that he cared. It was a little cute, really, though Kirk would never admit it – especially since he was prone enough to such heavily implied signs of affection himself. Already he was trying to think of what he could do to apologize-without-apologizing. (He'd even asked Bones, which had been a bad idea, because he'd just laughed and then made at least three separate references to flowers and chocolates, which probably should have been a sign that he was getting in a little deep here, but really, really wasn't.)

 

So Spock was onboard the Enterprise keeping her running, even though he was probably aching to join the search to discover the reason for all these earth-like qualities, and Kirk was down on a beautiful planet on a wonderful day, even though – apparently – all he wanted was for Spock to join him.

 

Yeah, he really needed to figure out a way to apologize.

 

Lost in thought, a soft noise caught his ears, and he turned to see a cat-like creature meowing up at him curiously from beside a bush. Well, he said 'cat-like creature' out of habit, but really, it was just a _cat._ It looked like a cat. It sounded like a cat. It even acted like a cat, staring at him warily and flicking its tail slightly. It was brown with patches of darker or lighter color over the belly and ears. It was also a little adorable.

 

All of a sudden, Kirk could understand how incredible this whole 'parallel evolution' thing was.

 

“Hey there, kitty!” he cooed softly, sinking down to his knees. The cat considered him for a moment before slowly stepping forward. It flinched slightly when Kirk put his hand forward, but when he began to scratch its head it relaxed, eyes half-closing in pleasure. Kirk continued to scratch, enjoying the soft feel of the fur against his palm, before shifting to scratch its belly instead; _this_ it apparently enjoyed even more, as the cat let out a soft, luxurious purr.

 

Kirk grinned. He thought he had a good idea of how to apologize to Spock, now. The Vulcan would never admit it, but it was pretty obvious that he had a huge soft spot for cute things, especially cats. In fact, hadn't he confessed to having a 'particular fondness' for them that time they'd time travelled back to 1960s Earth? Kirk would beam up to show him in the name of research, and he'd be able to see this similarity to Earth with his own eyes and, simultaneously, get to pet an adorable kitty. Hell, if it was safe, Spock might even be able to keep it! And he'd give it some Vulcan name and look over it like a protective daddy all the time, and everyone would worry about treating her badly accidentally because they knew Spock would never forgive them, and Kirk had given her to him so of course he'd have to help take care of her as well, and would just come in to his quarters when he wanted to see her, and -

 

Okay, so maybe he _was_ getting in a little deep there. But it was still a good plan.

 

Picking up the cat and nestling it into the crook of his arm (the cat resisted at first but stopped completely when he scratched her stomach a little more) he pulled out his communicator. “One to beam up.”

 

“Aye aye, sir,” replied the transport technician on duty.

 

Almost immediately, Kirk could feel the tingling sensation of the transporter doing its magic. He waited a few moments for the wall of the transporter room to appear, but after several seconds he could still only see trees and grass.

 

“Is there a problem, ensign?”

 

“Er, yeah, Captain. It's going slower than usual, for some reason. I'll just try and...”

 

After a moment the image before him started misting over, still worryingly slowly. Well, at least he was going through, now. He'd have Scotty look it over for problems once he was up.

 

Only, as he blinked his eyes, he felt a little... _strange_.

 

And when he finally rematerialized on the transporter pad and caught the horrified look in Husseini's eyes, he realized that something had gone terribly wrong.

 

*

 

He should never have doubted the ability of James T. Kirk to find himself in trouble. It just wasn't logical the sheer extent to which the man found himself under attack, or trapped, or drugged, but it was even more illogical to ignore a clearly visible pattern, even if you could not divine the reason for it. Still, Spock had to admit that when it came to Jim, that old, illogical Earth phrase that his mother had so liked quoting came to mind more often than not: _if anything can go wrong..._

 

He had even doubted himself, earlier. He had wondered whether perhaps he had pushed too hard for Jim to stay onboard the Enterprise, been a little overzealous in his attempts to keep him safe. However, the habit was still there, and if Spock was honest with himself, he was able to function more efficiently as first officer when he knew the Captain was with him or onboard.

 

For good reason, clearly.

 

He stalked through the halls, passing officers all exchanging the exact same question in their glances – what had the Captain managed to do now? Spock ignored them all. Ensign Husseini had been almost frantic on the communicator and hadn't told him exactly what had happened before she'd hung up. All Spock knew was that something had gone wrong with the transporter and it had affected the Captain, and that she's already called Doctor McCoy.

 

Finally reaching the room, Spock burst through the door, preparing himself for whatever vision of carnage lay before him on the transporter pads.

 

What he wasn't expecting was a worried-looking Captain carefully running his hands over one of the dark brown cat ears sitting atop his head.

 

Oh.

 

For a moment, he found himself staring. Jim turned slightly, and, yes, he had a tail, too – also brown, and tipped with tan. As he watched, Jim traced the outline of one ear as it twitched slightly, turning towards him in a minute, subconscious-looking movement.

 

“I could hear you from outside,” he said softly. (And was it Spock's imagination or was his voice a touch more throaty than usual? More...rumbly?) “Is this what Vulcan hearing is like? I thought these walls were meant to be soundproof.”

 

As Spock watched, Jim licked his lips, tail flicking in a long, sensual movement.

 

Physically shaking his head, Spock cursed himself for his distraction. This was neither the time nor the place for such thoughts, especially about his Captain. Later he'd think over them, but for now he was the First Officer of the starship Enterprise, and his Captain had just been turned half-cat.

 

“Do you have any idea how this might have happened, Ensign?” he asked sharply, making the poor girl jump.

 

“I'm sorry, commander,” Husseini said rather pitifully, glaring down in frustration at the console. “I went to beam him up and it was taking longer than usual, so I increased the power – that's standard procedure – and...”

 

Spock nodded. “I will have Mr. Scott inspect it immediately. If there is a problem, we must make certain those still on-planet are not stranded past nightfall.”

 

Husseini returned the nod vigorously, recognising the subtle reassurance for what it was. “I'll call him now, sir.”

 

“All right, what's Jim gotten himself up-” Doctor McCoy, having just entered the room among swaths of medical equipment, stopped and stared. Spock hoped he hadn't been quite so obvious when he'd done the same.

 

“Hi, Bones!” Jim said, and paused. “I'm a cat, now!”

 

After a long moment, the doctor narrowed his eyes. “I don't know why I ever doubted you,” he grumbled under his breath, taking out his tricorder.

 

“I'm not sure what happened,” Husseini cut in, rather nervously. “He was just beaming up, as normal, but when he rematerialized...” She shook her head. “I have no idea how the cat parts got mixed in.”

 

“Er...” Jim frowned, cocking his head to one side. His ears shifted expressively, turning downwards. Spock wouldn't have thought it possible, but in this state Jim's emotions were even more readily apparent than ever before. It should have repulsed him, made him ever more vigilant about his own emotional controls; instead, it created an oddly yearning desire within him to physically comfort Jim. “I was kind of bringing a cat onboard with me. Maybe our genes got mixed up, or something?”

 

“This is not Earth, Captain. There are no cats.” He could feel his head start to pound between his eyes. Although his features were clearly feline, Spock felt he was finally beginning to understand the meaning of the phrase 'puppy-dog eyes'.

 

“There was! It had ears, and a tail, and whiskers, and it purred. It was a cat.”

 

Although he knew, intellectually, why it would interest some, having been so himself not much earlier, at the present moment Spock had no tangible interest in whether or not a creature from a completely different planet could actually be similar enough to a Terran cat to officially be considered one. He did not say this, however. Jim's ears moved; Spock averted his eyes.

 

“Why the hell were you bringing an animal aboard, anyway?!” McCoy complained as he checked the tricorder, running it over different parts of Jim's body. “You instantaneously forgot about the whole Regulus II incident, or something?!”

 

“That was...completely different.”

 

“How.”

 

“That was a empathic, semi-sentient creature! This was just a _cat_!”

 

“How could you be sure? And if it was just a cat, why the hell were you bringing it aboard?!”

 

Inexplicably, Jim blushed and looked away, ears turning down again, tail drooping. The yearning emotion in Spock increased threefold, his heart quickening in his side. “I had my reasons.”

 

The doctor glanced at Spock, before turning to his readings again. “Well, it seems like you weren't too far off, anyhow. Your genes aren't touched, but your physical and mental structures have been altered.”

 

“My _brain_ is altered?” Jim almost squeaked.

 

“Just a little. Human minds are stronger that cat minds, have more willpower, more individuality, so you're still you, mostly. You'll probably just pick up some new likes and dislikes to go along with the cat part.”

 

Jim seemed saddened. “So the cat's dead, then? Integrated into me? Is there any way of separating us?”

 

McCoy shook his head slowly. “Doesn't seem like it. What parts of the cat that weren't taken in by you are probably gone, now. We might be able to just take the cat parts out, though...”

 

For several moments, Jim thought in silence. Finally, he spoke. “How hard would that be?”

 

“No idea. Don't think it's ever been done before.”

 

“Well, at least I'm not making it easy for you,” Jim said with a grin, before sobering. “All right. See if it's possible, but...” He shook his head. “See if it's possible.”

 

With a final nod, and a final glance between Spock and Jim, McCoy left, muttering something unpleasant under his breath about ridiculous Captains so head over heels they can't think straight.

 

“I'll go alert Mr. Scott, then,” Husseini volunteered, leaving the transporter room. Jim and Spock nodded her away almost off-handedly, having forgotten she was still there.

 

“So...” Jim smiled uneasily, picking at his ear again. The movement was oddly enthralling, and Spock had to repress a sudden desire to feel for himself what made Jim keep touching them. Would the fur resemble a typical feline's, or would its consistency be closer to that of Jim's own hair? Would it be smooth or spiky? Soft or coarse? “Guess we better go back to the bridge, then?”

 

Spock nodded. In a more professional environment these thoughts would cease; the odd tingling feeling presently coursing through him as Jim rubbed his cheek to his palm in a distinctly feline manner was, unfortunately, not unfamiliar. “Indeed, Captain.”

 

But Jim didn't leave immediately, frowning at the door. “Captain?”

 

“It's just...I'm not sure how I feel about the crew seeing me like this...”

 

Spock frowned. “Captain. You are perfectly aware of the extraordinary level of respect the crew of the Enterprise holds for you. You are also aware that they have seen you in far more compromising positions after difficult missions. Finally, you are _also_ aware that a part-human part-cat is far from the strangest being any of the crew would have encountered; indeed, many of the crew are less humanoid beings.”

 

“I know.” Jim slumped. “But there's just something so...demeaning about being a cat. A housecat. I mean, if I were a lion or tiger or something, that'd be different – that'd command respect, be kinda cool, even – but a _housecat_?”

 

“There are no houses on Talitha III.”

 

“Whatever. It's just. Embarrassing, you know?” His mouth twitched into a smile. “Wait, no, of course you don't – Vulcans don't feel embarrassment, do they?”

 

Having such a strong reaction to watching Jim act like a cat was making it plainly clear that, yes, Vulcans _do_ feel embarrassment. Nevertheless, he understood the need for comforting familiarity among Humans, and crossed his hands behind his back. “Indeed not,” he replied, raising one eyebrow.

 

It elicited the intended reaction and Jim grinned. “Should've known.” He attempted to take a step forward, but stumbled, unused to this sudden (if slight) change in his body structure, and Spock only just managed to catch him in time. Crouched in an odd position over the steps of the transporter, Jim instinctively leant into Spock, pressing his cheek into his shoulder.

 

“See, this?” he murmured, breathing in deeply, as though smelling Spock's neck; Spock shivered involuntarily. “This is embarrassing.”

 

Spock was inclined to agree.

 

*

 

The next several days were... _trying,_ to say the least. It soon became patently clear that, once the initial curious interest subsided, the crew had no real objections to their Captain resembling a cat. It also soon became clear that the bridge crew plus Doctor McCoy and Lieutenant Scott, at least, were unlikely to overcome their original amused reactions any time soon. It was also becoming very clear that the Captain found this _extremely_ embarrassing. Which, Spock reflected, was probably at least half the reason for everyone's amusement. Jim was usually so confident and vibrant and impossible to disconcert regardless of circumstances that finding such an easy route to his flustered blush was no doubt sending their friends gleeful.

 

It may have been because of this, or it may have been for another reason, but Jim seemed to be forming feline habits more and more as time passed. They were only slight things, at first – his ears and tail would react automatically to his emotions, he would prefer to sit with his feet on the seat of the chair, he would sleep longer. (Which Spock was only aware of due to having had to cut short their chess games several times when it became clear that Jim was half-asleep at the board.) Lately, however, they had been more and more obvious – he became very touchy, wrapping himself around people and even pressing his head into them (especially Spock, to their embarrassment and everyone else's delight). He began subconsciously licking at and cleaning his skin when his hands had nothing to do (which Spock particularly tried hard to ignore, to his embarrassment). He came to intensely enjoy having the top of his head scratched (especially when Spock was doing the scratching, to even greater embarrassment on both their parts). Actually, really, the former two hadn't been quite so bad in comparison to the latter discovery, which Spock was adamant in his intention to pretend it never happened at all.

 

Unfortunately, Jim's increasingly feline behaviour came with a corollary – the less able Jim was to stop himself acting like a cat, the less able Spock was to stop himself reacting as he wished to. The desire to touch his ears, pull him to his chest, or stroke his back became stronger and stronger, and Spock was forced to spend every minute of time lost to Jim sleeping strengthening his shields and emotional controls. Although he had promised himself to consider the matter logically he had become so bothered by the ordeal that he had become lost to shameful fear of what he would discover that he had refused to voice his concerns even to himself. Even his Vulcan half was aware that this kind of brute strength repression was unlikely to work – after all, an important part of controlling one's emotions involves knowing precisely what needs to be controlled – but he was too overcome with emotion to listen to reason. Another phrase his mother had been fond of quoting bitterly came to mind – _catch-22_.

 

For Spock's relief, however, only once had this desire become powerful enough that Spock had been forced into ceding to it – the aforementioned incident that Never Happened.

 

It had been a slow day on the bridge, leaving neither the Captain with anything to do to distract his cat half nor Spock anything to do to distract _himself_ from Jim's cat half. Upon finishing the paperwork he had been working on he had walked over to where Jim sat in the Captain's seat to hand it to him.

 

“Tha- wait, wasn't this my work?”

 

Spock nodded. “Indeed, signing off on these forms is usually the prerogative of the Captain. However, I found myself momentarily free of any more pressing duties, and considered it a productive use of my time.”

 

Jim shot him a grin – one of those bright, sincere smiles that Spock could never entirely let himself look away from. In those moments, Jim never looked like the brave, successful starship Captain that he was, but just a young Human male who enjoyed Spock's company – his _friend's_ company.

 

“Thanks, Spock!” Jim said. His ears twitched cheerfully, perking up invitingly.

 

He was alerted more by Nyota's muffled gasp of laughter than anything else, but the next thing Spock knew he had reached out and was scratching the top of his Captain's head through his hair.

 

If anything else had happened he would have jerked away instantly and returned, embarrassed, to his station. But that was not to be, as the moment Spock's fingers threaded through Jim's hair, the Captain let out a luxurious sigh and leant shamelessly towards the touch.

 

It was an odd feeling, Spock thought with remarkable clarity, to be entirely aware that you should not be doing what you are doing, and yet be unable to stop. Intellectually, he was terrified; physically, his whole body was sighing with joy.

 

The cute, almost childlike way Jim was leaning towards him, pressing up against his hand, desperate for more touch, made boneless and wordless, eyes fluttered shut to enjoy the sensations, all by Spock's hand...the parallels there were not difficult to miss, and the small, mewling noises of pleasure currently emanating from him certainly didn't help. He was just so _cute_ in this state – so trusting of Spock to take care of him, so single-minded and sensuous...

 

And Spock couldn't deny the effect the action was having on himself, either. Vulcan hands were extraordinarily sensitive, that being why they preferred not to touch others often, even casually. And this could hardly be considered a casual touch, Spock's fingers pressing into the sensitive points of Jim's scalp, Jim's soft, thick hair threading through his fingers...the different sensations against his skin were intoxicating. He pressed his palm more firmly against the back of his head, barely resisting a shudder. He had been wrong – the fur on his ears was as silky as a feline's, but the hair on his head had apparently be affected, too. Or had Jim's hair always been so soft, so smooth between his fingers, so thick and fluffy to touch? And his skin, too, was slightly warmer than a Human's, closer to a Vulcan's, and maybe that was part of why he was leaning into the heat of Spock's hand?

 

“Yeah, like that...” Jim murmured, as Spock's ring finger brushed a particularly sensitive spot above his left ear. He pressed it again, and – was he _purring_? “Yeah, do that again...”

 

The fact that he had not moved any part of his body other than his hand since he had first touched Jim was, perhaps, evidence that Spock had greater control over his body's actions than he thought. (Well, he hadn't moved noticeably, anyway...)

 

“Mmf...” Jim's head tilted to one side, nudging his head to where he wished to be scratched. Spock followed, digging his fingernails in at the base of his neck; Jim shivered and Spock let out a large breath.

 

“Yeah...now do my stomach.”

 

As though suddenly seized with the overwhelming, universal emotion of ' _ **this is an absolutely horrible idea**_ ', Spock wrenched his hand away, taking two steps back and holding it to his chest, staring at Jim in what could only be described as horror.

 

The bridge burst into laughter around him. Chekov was leaning against Sulu to stay sitting up; Nyota wiped tears from her eyes. Swallowing a hard lump, Spock turned on his ankle and returned to his station, determined to ignore the looks the Communications officer kept sending him. (They were either questioning or devious, Spock could guess, and based on the intimate knowledge she had acquired about Vulcan hands during their brief relationship, the latter was more than likely.)

 

He had no idea of Jim's reaction, refusing to either speak to or look at him; thankfully, he seemed to have the same idea, and they communicated only to their minimum level required for the rest of the shift.

 

*

 

It bothered him. Which was an unproductive emotion, especially considering there was very little he could do to rectify the situation, but it bothered him all the same. It just wasn't logical – why should he have such a strong sexual reaction to Jim behaving as a cat? He was not sexually attracted to cats. They were not sapient. They were not _people_. So why should that behaviour create such a response when it was Jim?

 

He was reluctantly forced to agree that, in comparison, an attraction to Jim himself was eminently logical. In fact, if he were honest (and now, if at any time, that felt necessary) this was not a new realization. For as long as he and Jim had been friends there had been an undercurrent of awareness, almost a restlessness, that could only be described as sexual tension. And why not? They were already very good friends, almost inseparable. And, if this afternoon had been any indication, on some level, at least, they were physically compatible. So really, the best solution to Spock's present condition, as well as the most natural progression of their present relationship, would be to suggest a romantic, sexual relationship.

 

On the other hand, Spock was worried.

 

He was worried that he had imagined the sexual tension he thought he saw between Jim and himself. He was worried that the physical compatibility he had observed today had not been shared by himself and Jim, but by himself and the cat. And he was worried that, even if there were a willingness on both sides to engage in such a relationship, Spock's current... _predilection_ would so repulse Jim that it would not be possible. In a worst-case scenario, they would be unable even to continue their friendship, or to work together. And where James T. Kirk was concerned, worst-case scenarios had a tendency of materialising. _If anything can go wrong..._

 

And that was why he found himself reviewing the newest findings of the scientific team for the third time that evening. (The findings should have been fascinating – the team had discovered apparent ruins of a Terran-style house, and were theorizing the possibility of an ancient, God-like being who had visited Earth centuries earlier and adapted his home planet to match – but even that failed to capture any interest beyond that which was required for politeness.) He had promised himself he would review his thoughts and feelings, and he had done so, however hesitantly. Now, he was finding it more difficult to concentrate on anything else. He could not excise from his memory the exquisite feel of Jim beneath him – his hair, his warmth, the sounds he made, the way he seemed to lean into him so naturally...

 

Vulcans were not naturally very sexual people. The topic was not commonly spoken of openly for more reasons than just inherent preoccupations with privacy – the simple fact was that, outside of Pon Farr, Vulcan sexual drives were very low when compared to Humans. However, Spock was not entirely Vulcan, and unfortunately this area of his physiology was one of the few more strongly influenced by his mother than by his father.

 

This was not a new discovery either. He had always felt more acutely his sexuality than, he had always suspected, any of his classmates. It had caused him no small degree of discomfort during adolescence. (The fact that he was still, by Vulcan standards, not a full adult did not help his present state.) As a result, Spock had never been able to find comfort in his own sexuality. With Nyota, although his most basic responses had not been lacking, he had never quite managed to summon up the same enthusiasm for the act that she had. It would not have bothered him, but he had seen how much it distressed his friend, and he did not wish to harm her further by insisting on a relationship in which he could not properly fulfil her needs.

 

Apart from that, Spock had had no experience whatsoever with romance, excepting a girl named Leila who had pursued him rather passionately while he was at the Academy (who had, thankfully, given up when he rejected her with some firmness) and, perhaps, nurse Christine Chapel, whom he suspected harboured a quiet attraction for him.

 

Never before had he been so forced to confront himself and his own responses. Certainly never before had his own interests been so alarmingly obvious – and alarming in nature. There was so much he did not understand – so much that he could not bring himself to explore quite yet.

 

A knock at his door jolted him – after that afternoon, he had not expected Jim to visit him after their shift. Well, if Jim was going to pretend that it had never happened, Spock was perfectly willing to follow for the near future.

 

“Good evening, Captain.”

 

Jim nodded, shifting as though nervous. His cat ears and tail were still present; this observation was entirely pointless. “Right, um, yeah, Spock – can I ask you a favor?”

 

“...of course, Captain.” Spock could never deny Jim anything he asked even in his fully human form; like this, he didn't stand a chance. He stepped back to let him in and closed the door.

 

“Right,” Jim repeated, and glanced away, anywhere but at Spock. “Um, this is gonna sound kinda weird.”

 

“'Weird' is a relative, subjective term,” Spock replied dryly, impressed by the clarity of his voice when his mind was ringing warning sirens at deafening level. “Particularly on the USS Enterprise. Particularly recently.”

 

Jim chuckled, but did not seem comforted. “Yeah, kinda has, hasn't it? It's just, well, I thought.”

 

“...you thought?” Spock rather hoped Jim wasn't going to be relying on him to facilitate this conversation, as he had absolutely no desire to do so. Only the slightly pathetic part of him that kept reminding him that Jim clearly _did_ want to talk about something stopped him from changing the subject and suggesting a game of chess instead. His ears were quivering. Spock could not resist quivering ears. (Apparently.)

 

“The cat. It's – you've probably noticed, but it's been getting stronger, lately. Harder to control. I mean, It's not like it's taking over me, or anything, it's just...” Jim shook his head. “I think she's frustrated. I've thought if I just acted really human all the time I'd get used to repressing it, but I actually think that's been making it worse. I wondered if – if maybe, you know, I acted more like a cat off-shift, she'd be satisfied, and wouldn't mind me acting Human while I'm on duty, you know?”

 

There were so many things about that speech – about this conversation they were having – that Spock was not enjoying he didn't know where to begin. He paused. “'She'?”

 

“Er, yeah. The cat. I think she's a girl. I mean, not that it makes much of a difference, I think, with cats. They pretty much act the same way either way. Kinda cool, actually.” Jim coughed loudly. “Anyway, that's, um. Not important.”

 

“...your plan sounds eminently logical.” Unfortunately, it rather did.

 

“Really? Cool. I wasn't sure.”

 

“However, I fail to see what part of this theory would necessitate my help.”

 

“Ah, see, that's where you come in.” Jim began to fidget; his tail moved in a remarkably similar manner. “I thought it'd be, well, kinda stupid to be lying around acting like a cat on my own, you know? I'm a cat. Cats are meant to be around people. Cats wouldn't _exist_ without people. Plus, I'm not sure how this'd...go. If I do get kinda out of it, being a cat, I'd rather someone was there to make sure I don't do anything stupid.”

 

“I see,” Spock said quietly.

 

“And I wanted it to be you, because...I trust you. Not to make fun of me or judge me about it or anything. Just to go all 'it is illogical to feel shame for that which one cannot control' and all that.”

 

“I would be, of course, correct.”

 

“I know. And that's why, basically, what I'm trying to say is, out of everyone I know, if I had to choose whose cat I would want to be, I would choose you.”

 

“I see,” Spock said even more quietly.

 

“So yeah,” Jim finished with a heavy breath.

 

“...that is acceptable.”

 

At this point, Spock wished for nothing more than to sit down with his padd somewhere and perhaps give Jim somewhere to sleep silently. But Jim was still standing there, still shifting from one foot to another, still curving his ears downwards nervously, and the idea that after all that he still had something that he didn't want to say but felt he had to made Spock wish more fervently than he had yet that he had cut off this conversation at the very beginning.

 

“Can I lie on your lap?” he blurted out, finally.

 

Shocked, Spock could only respond, “No, Captain.”

 

“I mean, my head on your lap.”

 

“Yes, Captain...” Spock resisted the urge to bite his lip. He did not know what to say. Jim had always had the ability to make him feel both totally comfortable and totally flustered and emotional – often simultaneously – but this was really far too much.

 

“Did you think I meant-”

 

“I thought nothing, Captain.”

 

“I didn't mean – _that_ ,” Jim said hastily. “I just meant – my head. If you don't want to...I get that.” He pursed his lips. “I said it was weird.”

 

“I have no issue with it.”

 

“It's just that – the cat wants to. I – I think she likes you.” He seemed to be blushing.

 

“Animals often do,” Spock said faintly.

 

“Yeah, I've noticed. But if you think it's too weird, that's okay-”

 

“No...Jim. I agree, it sounds like the most rational, practical solution to the...problem. I would not mind being a part of it.”

 

Jim watched him, as though searching for reluctance. Either he decided it didn't matter or Spock was better at masking his feelings at present than he felt, for he nodded. “I'd just lie my head on your lap. Maybe sleep a bit, or something. You could still go on your padd.”

 

“That sounds reasonable.” As he glanced around, he shuddered; was he really going to do this? Had he learned nothing over these last few days? But Jim needed this of him, and when Spock turned back to him a moment later and saw the hopeful upturning of Jim's large brown ears he knew that any resistance would be futile. “We should sit on my bed, then – I have no chairs large enough.”

 

Jim seemed to hesitate for a second, but continued on as though he hadn't. “Sounds good!”

 

As though going through a funeral rite, Spock walked over to his bed and sat down, his body already trembling in anticipation of what was to come. His heartbeat felt frantic to his ears; he wondered what it would feel like to a Human. Moving into position, he looked over at Jim, across the room, and watched as he followed, settling beside him on the mattress.

 

“So, if you'll just...”

 

Spock shifted back until his legs were against the side of the bed, leaving more room for Jim to lie. After another agonizing moment he did, shuffling and shifting against the bed and Spock's thighs. After a few moments, he settled into a position, his left hand curled under him, his right hand on Spock's right thigh, his forehead rested against his left, the back of head across his groin.

 

“Hmm...you're warm,” Jim murmured, pressing his head in more deeply.

 

Spock certainly felt warm. “Vulcan body temperature is significantly higher than Humans'.” Compared to his own body, Jim's felt pleasantly cool, even with his slightly elevated feline body temperature. Everything about him felt pleasant.

 

“Yeah, I know. Feels nice.”

 

Spock was abruptly reminded of his earlier thoughts about physical compatibility, and immediately quashed the idea.

 

It was several moments before Spock remembered he was supposed to be working on his padd, not just silently staring down at the top of Jim's head. The weight was rather distracting, particularly against his worryingly over-heated crotch, _particularly_ when he remembered the way Jim's hair had felt against his fingers that afternoon; this was another thought he was hasty to dissolve.

 

(Really, it would be more accurate to say that nary a train of thought went into his head at that time that he did not wish he could stem.)

 

And that was when he realized that he had left his padd over at his computer.

 

He looked over there forlornly for a moment, craving the familiarity of the space. Luckily, Jim did not seem to have noticed; unluckily, he apparently had not yet decided that burying his head into his first officer's crotch was a bad idea, and did it again, turning his head slightly to cover his left eye, bringing his face worryingly close.

 

“I think it's working,” Jim said, and Spock jumped; for a moment he had entirely forgotten the reason for their current situation. “The cat – she feels better, I think.”

 

It all seemed very convenient to speak of 'the cat' wishing to press her face into Spock's groin, but Spock was not quite suicidal enough to voice this aloud. (Suicidal, of course, not because he believed Jim would react so badly, but that his own heart would; certainly it felt as though it were beating fast enough already.)

 

“Is there anything you wish me to do?” Normally Human sexual innuendo escaped him; now, it seemed everything had that tint.

 

“Er, yeah, actually...if you don't mind, and since we're here it seems like you don't, for some reason, but if you don't mind, could you do that head thing again, you were doing today?” And if that didn't make Spock shiver to himself enough, Jim then felt it necessary to add, “that felt...really good.”

 

Spock had been wrong – he and Jim losing the ability to function together as friends or workmates wasn't the worst-case scenario; _this_ was.

 

He should have rejected him. He _could_ have rejected him. He could have come up with all sorts of excuses – for example, that he would need both hands to work on his padd, which was what he was _meant_ to be doing in the first place. He could have reminded him and stood up and gotten it. Really, if he wanted to, he could have explained that he had work to do, or was quite tired, or that he needed to meditate (which he did, sorely). Jim would have been disappointed, but would have understood – it was, after all, _weird._ It was an imperfect scenario, but one far superior than his current, and so he craved it.

 

Except, of course, he really, really didn't. And that was why he found his hand moving, as though of its own volition, to pet Jim's head again.

 

“Yeah...” Jim murmured, pushing his nose into Spock's thigh and tightening his grip on his leg. “Yeah, keep doing that. God. Seriously, when you do that, I'm not sure I even want to go back to being fully Human. Your _hands_ ,” he almost moaned, and Spock barely suppressed himself from answering. “They're just – _amazing_. Like – pianist's hands, or something. You play music?”

 

It felt more than a little unfair to elicit such incredible reactions and then expect him to be able to process questions and answer clearly. Only his Vulcan heritage and training allowed him to respond normally - “I have learned to play a Vulcan instrument similar to the Terran harp.”

 

“That'd be it, then.” Except it wasn't, and the reason why it wasn't – why Jim was apparently enjoying Spock scratching his had with his fingers so much – was the same as the reason why he wished for nothing more than to leave this awful scene and never return.

 

He hummed slightly in response.

 

“You should play it, sometime. For me. Or the crew, or something.”

 

“Nyota and I often accompany one another during our spare time together. She is a beautiful singer.”

 

“Is that so? I never knew that, about you two. Guess you keep learning things about people all the time, huh?”

 

Spock was learning a _lot_ about himself.

 

Another dual situation appeared – thankfully, Jim apparently decided that further talking was unnecessary; unfortunately, in its place, he began to make noises.

 

Spock had thought the noises he had made on the bridge were indulgent, but it seemed he had been holding himself back. At almost every touch of Spock's fingers – every twitch of his nail, or movement of his palm, he let out a small gasp, or a mewl, or a murmur, or a purr. He began to shift, too, his head dictating the path of Spock's hand as before, occasionally squirming against the bed.

 

“Fuck, yeah,” he mumbled, his fingers digging into Spock's thigh. And then - “A little lower.”

 

Dutifully, Spock lowered his hand, scratching near the base of his skull.

 

“Yeah, lower.”

 

Hesitantly, he did so, tracing through the small hairs at the top of his neck.

 

“Lower. Please.”

 

Spock did so. Jim's neck felt very soft.

 

“Yeah, um...do you think...you could do my back, as well? I mean, my head feels great, but – she likes her back rubbed, as well. The cat.”

 

Spock tried not to display the extent to which he did not like the present direction of these proceedings. Unfortunately, he was successful.

 

“Here – I'll take off my shirt, so you can do it properly.” And before Spock could say a word, Jim had sat up and was pulling off his top. (Which may not have mattered, as Spock did not entirely feel capable of saying anything beyond 'Yes, Captain,' at this point.)

 

“There.” He settled against Spock, again, which unfortunately necessitated more pressing and rubbing and shifting. Finally, mercifully, he settled...leaving Spock with a lapful of shirtless catboy Jim who desired nothing more than for Spock to rub his back.

 

Spock could have wept.

 

Shaking, Spock placed his hands against Jim's naked back, before immediately retracting them. As soon as they had touched he had felt a wave of comfort and pleasure wash through him, meaning that not only were his emotional shields failing but his telepathic shields as well. Any emotions gathered from Jim now would only make this all the harder, so he redoubled his efforts, relieved when he touched him again and felt nothing beyond the cool, smooth skin against his over-sensitive fingertips.

 

He combined a stroking and kneading motion, mixing a feline petting and human massage styles. Jim approved, if the increased volume of his sounds were any evidence. He ran a fingernail down his spine and he shivered, pressing up into Spock's hand. He did it again, and elicited the same reaction.

 

Pressing his pointer finger in, Spock was careful not to press his first two fingers together when he touched Jim's skin. The difference, now, was merely mind over matter – there was nothing about placing the fingers together that would make the action any more stimulating a kiss – but these minor issues of semantics seemed, all of a sudden, terribly important.

 

But then there was an odd sound. An oddly wet, sucking sound, and Spock was beginning to believe he was going mad until he discovered the source.

 

It seemed Jim was attempting to appease all aspects of his cat half today, including the desire to clean himself.

 

Spock had a lapful of shirtless catboy Jim who desired nothing more than for Spock to rub his back, and who was – before his eyes – licking and sucking over the back of his hand and fingers.

 

Everything earlier Spock could stand. He hadn't enjoyed it (or, rather, he hadn't enjoyed _enjoying_ it), but he knew that once it was over, it would be _over_. He would get through it. He would retain his shields – emotional and telepathic – and Jim would be none the wiser.

 

At this new development, however, Spock was forced to admit that an unintended erection was becoming painfully possible.

 

Spock grit his teeth, unintentionally pressing down harder in his ministrations in his attempt to retain focus; as always, this produced precisely the worst outcome, as Jim only mewled louder around his hand. He ran his tongue along the length of one finger, bathing the tip, curving his lips around the very end just slightly. Spock tried to turn away, but the sight was transfixing. Did Jim know the implications of such an action to a Vulcan? Surely he could not if they had gotten this far without stopping. But even the knowledge that it could not have the same effect on Jim as it would on Spock didn't stop his wondering about how, exactly, it would feel if those were his fingers, instead...

 

His breathing was heavy, but Jim was too engrossed in his own world to notice.

 

Or so he thought. “That's...that's great, my back feels great. But, um. Could you do my stomach, now?” Jim paused, tongue flickering at a knuckle, ears twisting with minute pressure against Spock. “I think she – likes that best.”

 

If at that moment Jim has asked him to remove his clothing and recite poetry at the top of his lungs while simultaneously destroying every piece of furniture in his quarters Spock probably would have found himself doing just that, so when Jim turned over more onto his side, human ear against Spock's lap, it was not difficult to reach around him and press his fingers into Jim's stomach.

 

Jim moaned, arching against his fingers. “Yeah,” he said breathlessly. “Like that. Rub it, a little.”

 

Spock's entire body tense, his breath held, lungs tight, every part of him stretched taut, Spock did so, and watched as Jim returned to his fingers.

 

He could not get aroused. He would not. Jim's head was _pressing against his groin_. If his penis so much as twitched, he would feel it, and it would be undeniable what the source was. He could not. He could not pay attention as Jim sucked himself off, as Jim groaned and sighed, as the muscles of his stomach flickered and twitched against his hand, as his whole body squirmed and twisted and pressed towards Spock. He could not – he _would not._

 

Jim grunted animalistically, fingers scrambling to clutch at the fabric of Spock's pants, pulling it slightly. Spock's fingers brushed around his belly button and he gasped, and Spock heard the movement as his knee drew up. Perhaps he would have glanced, if Jim hadn't taken that moment to engulf his entire finger in his mouth, Spock's throat shuddering with the strain from repressing his moan.

 

This was _not sexual_. His friend simply needed an outlet for the cat portion of his brain, who desired warm laps and back scratches. He had no business _making_ this sexual. There was _no reason_ for this to be sexual. He was just acting like a cat!

 

Except as he pressed down harder, fingers tracing around the lower half of Jim's stomach, something brushed against the back of his hand.

 

Apparently, as it turned out, this was, indeed, sexual.

 

And apparently, as it turned out, he was not the only person here who considered it that.

 

Like the straw that broke the camel's back, Spock was gone, unable to hold his shields any longer. His vision was enveloped by white light, and his penis throbbed, desperate for attention. Jim could have felt it – must have felt it. Even if he missed Spock's sudden, surprised intake of breath, the way his hand faltered beside his tented trousers, there was no way he could have not noticed his friend suddenly acquiring a rather impressive hard-on right behind his head.

 

Spock gasped, inundated with feeling. In the swirling mess of his broken shields it was hard to distinguish his own from Jim's, but it was very clear that Jim's own erection hadn't appeared out of nowhere. If he hadn't been aroused earlier, he definitely was now, and all that was left to do was see what happened.

 

For several moments neither made any action, spoke any word, made any sound. Spock swallowed, throat suddenly tight, sweat streaming from him. He felt so overheated and oversensitive and yet still overdesperate for more touch, more feeling, more everything. He couldn't breathe as he awaited Jim's response.

 

“...please, Spock,” he mumbled, shifting forward to press his stomach against his hand again.

 

He couldn't swallow, either. “You are not yourself.”

 

“I am, Spock. It's – it's hard to explain, but – it's like Bones said. I can still think. I'm still me. It just – influences what I want.”

 

“Such as this.”

 

Jim shook his head, and Spock's legs jumped, his hips bucking before he could restrain them. “No. Not this. I – _I_ want this. Not the cat. I'll still want this, even if I go back to normal.”

 

Spock still hesitated. If he moved now, there would be no going back. He would not be able to restrain himself any further.

 

“Please...” Jim said, half whine, half moan, and pressed himself into Spock's hand again.

 

Hand trembling worse than ever, Spock pressed his palm into his belly again, and Jim shuddered.

 

“Wait...” Pulling back, Jim leaned up enough to turn himself over, face against Spock's lap, a hand against his hip. He curved himself around, knees to his stomach, tail curving in a graceful arch. Shifting his head, Jim leant forwards, licking at Spock's erection through his pants.

 

Spock moaned, and grappled around for Jim's stomach again, pressing his thumb into the soft skin. With his other hand he clutched at his head, threading his fingers through the hair and marvelling at this sensation that, all of a sudden, he could appreciate.

 

Jim licked again, the moisture spreading and cooling across the material at the head of his erection. The sensation, even through the material of his trousers, was exquisite. Already he was aroused enough that any attention to his erection, no matter how faint, made him shiver with pleasure. Spock pressed with his thumb again, and Jim hummed as he spread his lips over the tented shape. It made a delicious sucking sound, not unlike those Jim had made earlier, and the memory made him press more deeply, fingers spread over the small of his back.

 

He had not expected this. His coupling with Nyota had always had an oddly mechanical thread to it, as though they were checking off a list entitled 'sexual activities' in a specific order. His actions had not been driven by what he personally enjoyed but by what he knew, objectively, was normal. This, he knew, was not. However, this, he also knew, felt very good.

 

Reaching his right hand up, Jim palmed the underside of his erection, licking down the side and over the top, before taking the tip into his mouth again. The damp material clung to his penis, pressing and rubbing as Jim's lips moved.

 

He was close, he was so close. It should have been shameful to be so undone without any direct skin-to-skin touching, but compared to before, it simply felt heavenly.

 

Finally Jim reached his hand up to the button of Spock's pants and slowly, achingly slowly, began to undo them. Breath quickening, Spock pressed his hand into Jim's hair, tangling his fingers in the fluffy strands. Realizing that he was pushing the Human, he relented his grip, but this restraint was not to last.

 

There was still fabric separating them. Distantly Spock was amazed, that even through the cloth of his boxers Jim could induce such strength of emotion in him, but he was incapable of any more involved thought than that. The front of the Starfleet-regulation underwear was already dotted with precum, the material stretching almost painfully over his greatly swollen penis. Every slight pull or fold of cloth introduced maddeningly faint friction against his desperate arousal.

 

Having pulled away his trousers, Jim paused, taking in the still impeded view directly before him. Spock pressed a thumb insistently into Jim's stomach, tickling just above the waistband of his own pants. Jumping, Jim grinned, flashing him a quick smile before licking at the dot at the front of his boxers, tongue pressing up the slit. Spock gasped, a throaty groan escaping him as his hand tightened in Jim's hair. His mouth returned, tracing around the sensitive head, while his hand fingered over his balls. The cool feeling of the material stretching and bunching under Jim's hand and mouth was torturously faint, and when Jim stepped up his ministrations by pressing more firmly against his testicles as he placed his lips just over the very tip of Spock's erection and sucked, Spock felt his vision grow faint, pleasure coursing through every vein in his body. Desperately, he curled his fingers in Jim's hair, tracing rapidly around Jim's belly button, and Jim reflexively sucked again, harder.

 

It was so much feeling, so much heat rushing through him like waves, so much tingling all through his body, and yet so little physical stimulation that Spock was completely lost. All he could think about was the magnificent feel of Jim at his crotch. And then, delicately, softly, Jim bit down into the fabric and everything exploded. Hips suddenly bucking frantically, Spock came, vision white, into his underwear. And yet Jim did not stop – the movement of his hand against his penis became even more powerful, firm and rhythmical, and even as Spock came down from his high his reducing erection twitched and pulsed several more times.

 

Now Spock was left with a shirtless, very aroused catboy Jim in his lap and a very wet mess in his underwear. Flushing, Spock felt the pleasant after-effects of his climax escape him quickly as he remembered his position. Not only was the feeling uncomfortable, it was also, as he had learned from his research, a bad breach of sexual ethics to come so swiftly without seeing to your partner. Humiliated, Spock opened his mouth to apologize when he found Jim re-situating himself over Spock's lap again, this time sitting down, facing away. Taking Spock's hands, he placed them around his stomach to the front of his own trousers, over the button. When Spock hesitated, Jim pressed himself back against Spock's chest.

 

However, when his ass met the erection Spock had not entirely lost earlier, Jim paused. “Wait,” he murmured, and reached back to Spock's boxers again. With Spock's help they pushed them down, taking out his penis.

 

“I have an idea.”

 

With the help of his and Spock's hand, Jim took his soft, furred tail and curled it around Spock's penis, holding it there. The feeling was indescribable – silky and textured, similar to Jim's hair, and yet not. Every slight variation in feeling that had been obvious against his sensitive hands was doubly so now. Somehow, his fantasy of Jim's hair against his penis had come partly true.

 

Holding it there with his right hand, Jim tapped lightly against Spock's hand, still held lightly around his penis. “Right.”

 

Returning to Jim, Spock clenched his left fist, holding the base; Jim groaned, loudly, a sound which Spock returned as Jim also pressed his tail more firmly against Spock's skin. Together, they began, moving their hands in rhythm against their penises, Spock's mouth pressed against Jim's neck for balance. It was all just too much, the friction and the sensation and the very knowledge of what he and Jim were doing, and yet it was still going, and it was really happening. The fur caught and slid against his skin and his hips began to buck as Jim's did the same.

 

In his last moments, barely able to think about what he was doing anymore, Spock reached around with his right hand, bringing it before Jim's mouth.

 

“Suck it,” he muttered urgently, voice hoarse. “Like you were doing before.”

 

Holding it in his left hand, Jim took Spock's entire pointer and middle finger into the warm wetness of his mouth, and Spock came, shooting come against Jim's back and tail, shuddering as Jim come as well, his telepathy causing it to thunder through him on the wake of his own almost as strongly as in Jim himself.

 

Jim collapsed back against him, and it took all of Spock's Vulcan strength not to be taken down with him; instead, dizzily, he manoeuvred them so they were lying side by side on the bed. In that moment he was sure they both must look awful – messy and wet and thoroughly debauched. He found he didn't entirely care.

 

His whole skin tingled, all over his body. He could feel everything – the heat Jim was giving off beside him, the cotton of his bedspread. He would have to change it, now, most likely. Eventually. Instead, he stared at the ceiling, slowly slotting his mind back into place.

 

“...so!” Jim breathed eventually, coughing slightly. “I guess there's some good to come out of this whole cat thing, after all?”

 

Spock nodded absently. He should really get up to clean them both off - it was his quarters, after all. But he felt too boneless and happy. He'd do it later.

 

“We are _so_ doing that again.” Jim turned to him, a worried expression spreading over his features, ears curving downwards. “We're doing that again, right?”

 

For a moment, Spock was too startled to reply. Then, he chuckled mentally, letting himself smile a little, and touched a fingertip to Jim's shoulder. “Yes, Jim. We are definitely doing that again.”

 

Jim grinned – that same happy, sincere grin that had started this whole affair in the first place – and turned over onto his side, facing Spock. “Good. But for now, let's just...”

 

“Yes.” Spock turned over as well, before pausing. “The cat will be very happy.”

 

Jim laughed. “Yeah, think she will. She might get a bit annoyed when all her nice naps keep getting interrupted, though.”

 

“Then perhaps we should indulge her presently?”

 

“Now _that_ sounds like the best idea I've heard all day,” Jim agreed triumphantly, wrapping his arms around Spock's back and leaning his head against his chest. “Seriously, so warm. Are Vulcans always this warm?”

 

“Not always.”

 

Jim snorted, and Spock pressed a hand to his back. Within a few minutes, he had fallen asleep.

 

Spock was sticky and a little uncomfortable, and he and Jim still hadn't technically discussed where exactly they were going to go from now. But for now, Spock didn't really care about any of those things, either. Jim had a tendency of doing that to him. It might have been just a little bit nice.

 

*

 

“...so, basically, we think we've got it,” McCoy finished, biting into his toast. There were bags under his eyes and his movements were stiff. “It'll be damn hard, and more than a little dangerous, too, but we can do it.”

 

Jim blinked. “Do what?”

 

Bones stared at him. “Remove the cat from you? Remember?”

 

“Oh, right. That.” Jim toyed with his egg, slicing it into pieces with the edge of his fork. “Listen, don't worry about that anymore.”

 

McCoy raised an incredulous eyebrow. “So, what, now you _want_ to be half cat? I thought you hated it.”

 

“Well, it _was_ kinda embarrassing. But it's not all bad! I can hear a lot better, and I like all sorts of foods I never used to, and – look, watch this-” Taking his tail in one hand, Jim held a padd beside it. Slowly, it curved around, holding it tightly. “See? I'm getting the hang of-” As soon as he let go of the padd with his hand his tail went stiff and it fell to the floor with a clatter.

 

Jim frowned. “Well, okay, I still need more practice with that. But when I can do it it'll be awesome!”

 

McCoy was still staring at him, watching suspiciously; Jim looked back at him innocently. All of a sudden, he seemed to notice the unusual exuberance Jim was displaying. His eyes flickered all over him – his rumpled shirt, the alertness of his eyes, the natural upturn of his lips. As soon as he glanced over at Spock, however, the Vulcan turned back to his breakfast, unwilling to meet his eyes.

 

Finally, he spoke. “Fine, whatever, we'll leave you alone, on one condition – you never tell me _any_ details, _ever._ ”

 

Jim grinned. “I can't make any promises”

 

Grumbling to himself, McCoy finished his breakfast, leaving them alone.

 

Jim turned to Spock and shrugged. “Seemed like a good deal to me!”

 

“Indeed,” Spock replied, running his fingers over the end of Jim's tail.

 

 

END

 


End file.
